Final Solution
by duo7700
Summary: The Guys in White have gotten their act together, much to the chagrin of every ghost. Dark. No pairing, post-PP. Rated M for WWII concentration camps allegory.


**Big thanks to sapphireswimming, who pointed out some stuff I missed in my original upload of this.**

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><p>Final Solution.<p>

Never have those words meant something good. Then again, what do you expect from the Guys in White? Sure, they mean well, but they have always been in over their heads. They're clueless when I meet with them now and they were clueless twenty-eight years ago when I first met them.

I have been the official ambassador to Earth for the past decade. Prior to that, I was the ambassador to the ghost zone. Twenty-seven years as a diplomat and now, I'm little more than a prisoner, just another cog in this macabre machine of undead slave labor.

Upon occasion, I still perform the duties of my post. I still act as a go between, though now I only receive orders to give to my peers. Lately, though, it has been silent, save the whispers of air and the cracking of rocks as picks as they rise and fall, their wielders little more than broken spirits.

Once in a while, a shriek of insanity sounds throughout The camp as one ghost finally cracks and flies into the green dome above, a loud pop and wave of green light pulses through the field of energy as the ghost becomes little more than a mist of ectoplasm that falls slowly back to The ground.

In the first few weeks, many ghosts attempted to break free. We lost thirty-eight in the first day, 482 in the first week. We learned after the first ghost, whose name was Bob, fell back down and coated the roofs of the camp with a thin layer of ectoplasm. Desiree was the first to go crazy, though. It was three months to the day that she went, unable to control her urge to grant a wish, she attempted to reach the living and learn their desires. That was the day we learned that the shield was effective up to ten meters away near the ground. The Box Ghost discovered that molten ectoranium flows beneath us. He destabilized two agonizing weeks later. His stain is still visible upon the floor of dormitory thirty-one.

Assuming this is the only camp, there are still free ghosts. Skulker and Ember, supposedly, are still free. Clockwork is untouchable; many rumors of him freezing GIW agents permanently have circulated through the camp. If that is how he is avoiding capture, I am sure there is an entire warehouse of men frozen in time.

I ask myself often, "What did we do to deserve the ire of man?" I am fully aware that some, like Desiree, were malevolent and don't deserve freedom. Others, like The Wisconsin Dairy King and me, do not bother anyone. We kept to ourselves and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. The Guys in White couldn't care less.

I play the part of the good slave. I do whatever they tell me. The others do whatever I tell them. I'm not sure if they thought this through, but ghosts are immortal. We survived death and we can endure this little bump in the road of eternity.

Sixty years later, I was introduced to the newest ghosts, the agents of the first Guys in White. Despite their part in our imprisonment, I told the others, Skulker and Ember in particular, to treat them like the others for they have no recollection of their lives. Being in charge for so long, people listened. Dani had become my second in command after dying during an experiment in the GIW headquarters a mile away. She, who was maimed by the horrible experiments, backed me up. These were men no longer; they were our brothers and sisters. The last of the ghosts. Like us, they wore their numbers that had been eternally burned into their forms by the Specter Spectrum laser with pride. We would be the survivors of the most horrific atrocity since the exorcisms of yore. Freedom was no further than eternity.

Nearly a century after our imprisonment, we are free. The ectoranium reactors lay scattered across the desert. They exploded on their own, a side effect of spent ectoranium fuel rods, I guess. The air is permeated with ectoranium dust, making us weaker than before, but I can get us out of this. I go to the spectral artifact warehouse, eyeing the dead agents with hatred. On either side of me are ghosts who need their own objects. Skulker and Ember leave the group to retrieve their items while most seem too afraid to break away. I reach my isle, my family's isle. Giant bold, black lettering proclaims this isle to he dedicated to "FENTON". I ignore the countless inventions of my family covered in a thick layer of dust and head straight towards the Ghost Portal. The active portal quickly becomes jammed with survivors trying to get back to their homes. I wait until they escape and then destroy the portal. I locate the Infimap and tuck it in my pocket before locating the plans for the portal, which becomes dust in seconds, lost in the surrounding dust. The others wait outside for me and cheer when I hold up the map. I lead them to the nearest portal, less than a mile away. It stays open long enough for us to all go through, as if the Ghost Zone missed us all and was unable to wait any longer. It was Christmas Day. We welcomed those agents who had died in the explosions, atrocities forgotten. Ties with the living were severed the next day. I was tasked with telling the United Nations of our decision.

All were shocked when they entered the chambers and saw me inhabiting my former seat, the nameplate still covered in a thick layer of dust. I strode to the podium, told the humans of our decision, and was met with silence. I sat for the rest of the session and politely listened to what others had to say. Only Israel asked us to stay, citing their ancestors' own experience. I told the diplomat I would tell the others of his request, but it seemed unlikely.

Within two years, we had established a permanent portal in Tel-Aviv. Once a year, I ventured to New York City to attend a meeting with the U.N. The other countries feared us, but dealt with our presence. Talk of a new war against us began and stopped when I held up my forearm. We had learned from our mistakes. Never again would we go quietly. Our best fighters, including myself, attacked anti-ghost agencies, never causing physical harm, merely destroying weapons. We once destroyed a ghost portal and tossed an ectoranium bomb that was nearby into space, the weaning effects of the ectoranium was dampened by the casing, but it still took fifteen of us to get it in space.

Is this eternity? Is this what my afterlife is to be? Clockwork says there will come a day when we will coexist peacefully, but see only hatred. I tell them that it is human to fear the unknown and hate what one fears. I recall feeling that as I died all those years ago. Now, I am not sure, if this is true or if it merely a theory that helps me sleep. I can only hope that, once they know us, they will tolerate our existence.


End file.
